


Snowmageddon

by miraworos



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, First Kiss, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:43:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21809731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miraworos/pseuds/miraworos
Summary: Just a good old-fashioned snowball fight among mortals and immortals, wherein some residual angst from Armageddon is worked out in the spirit of Christmas.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 18
Kudos: 52
Collections: Good Omens Holiday Gift Exchange, Mira's Good Omens Christmas Fic





	Snowmageddon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lilitia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilitia/gifts).



“Bloody absurd, believing Christ was born in December. Most famous person in the history of the world—the entire concept of recorded time based on _his life_ —you’d think they’d get his birthday right.”

Aziraphale sighed heavily, shooting an unamused glance at Crowley as they strolled side by side through the village proper, looking for last-minute gifts for the children. Crowley had been waxing poetic for at least a half-hour about all the ways in which humanity had muffed up the historical underpinnings of Christmas. Aziraphale was getting rather tired of the lecture, but that was why Crowley carried on with it. He was clearly in a mood to get under the angel’s skin, and it was working.

“I don’t know why we go through this every year, dear,” Aziraphale attempted. Maybe if he called the demon out, he’d get a reprieve.

“Because _they_ ascribe so much importance to it. He’s the ‘reason for the season,’ and all that drivel. But they’re _wrong_ about it, and the irony is too much not to needle.”

“Yes, but Christmas has evolved. It’s quite its own thing now.”

“Oh, really?” Crowley asked with an incredulous expression. “It’s all about presents and reindeer and Santa, is it?”

“I didn’t say th—”

“Because don’t even get me started on Saint Nicholas.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “Not everything is about historical fact, Crowley. Some things are about faith.”

Crowley snorted. “Faith. As if that ever did anyone any good.”

Aziraphale’s irritation diminished somewhat at Crowley’s shift in mood. He’d been hurt by Heaven, hurt by Hell. They both had. Faith hadn’t done either of them much good, he was right. But religion wasn’t the only thing worthy of faith _._

Aziraphale happened to be looking through a shop window they were passing, tuning out whatever Crowley was prattling on with regarding Saint Nicholas, when Crowley suddenly stopped, and Aziraphale ran right into the back of him.

“Oh, dear! Terribly sorry about—”

“What the Heaven are _they_ doing here?” Crowley growled.

“What?” Aziraphale said, turning to look in the direction Crowley was facing. “Who?”

But Crowley didn’t answer, and he didn’t need to. It was obvious who he meant. Two angels in spotless, alabaster suits, pretending to enjoy a couple of lattes while hiding their faces behind newspapers. Ridiculous, really. Gabriel sorely needed to update his handbook on human espionage.

“Oh, yes,” Aziraphale said. “They’ve been following me for a few days now.”

“They _what_?!”

“Don’t yell, Crowley. You’ll only attract their attention.”

Crowley ignored the angel’s request and carried right on yelling.

“How long, angel?”

“It’s nothing to—”

“How long!”

“I already said. A few days. Keep your voice down.”

Crowley turned on his heel and stalked in the direction of the angels.

“Crowley, wait!” Aziraphale said, catching the demon’s elbow before he could go too far. “It’s forbidden.”

“I don’t give a rat’s rear end if it’s forbid—what’s forbidden? Talking? Talking’s forbidden now? Good, because I’d rather squeeze them till their entrails ooze out of their orifices anyway.”

Crowley yanked his arm free and once again headed in the direction of the surveillance detail. This time, Aziraphale had to step quickly to block the demon’s path altogether.

“Fighting is forbidden. It’s Christmas. No combat of any kind is allowed until the season ends.”

Crowley stared at him, genuinely taken aback. “This is only coming up now?”

“It wasn’t relevant before now,” Aziraphale said.

“I bet the boys downstairs would grant a significant favor to have that tidbit of information,” he said, the cogs in his brain clearly whirling.

“Please, Crowley. Let’s just leave it,” Aziraphale said, trying to sway Crowley with his most persuasive I’ll-give-you-a-treat-if-you-behave expression. “They won’t harm us. They can’t. And I’d really hate to ruin the holiday with unpleasantness.”

“ _Fine_ , angel.” Crowley slumped dramatically.“But you didn’t see their faces when they tried to force you to walk into hellfire. After the holiday, if they are still there…”

“I won’t stop you,” Aziraphale agreed with a sly smile, which almost always seemed to distract Crowley from whatever else was going on at the time. Then he looped his arm boldly through Crowley’s and steered him back to the sidewalk they’d been ambling down. “I’m certain luncheon must be well past ready by now. We really should get back to Anathema’s.”

“As you wish, angel,” Crowley said, shaking his head. But he fell in step with Aziraphale, hands in his pockets, crooked grin on his face. Aziraphale attributed the smile to his efforts at beguiling the demon. He had gotten rather better at beguiling lately. He’d been practicing.

He really should have known better.

After luncheon—which had been as lovely as Aziraphale expected, a reunion, of sorts, of all the principles involved in the battle at Tadfield Airbase—Crowley had proposed a group ramble to the nearby park. To aid digestion, he’d said.

Aziraphale had thought it a strange suggestion, coming from the cold-blooded Crowley, who had to be coaxed for an hour before venturing outside on a brisk morning. But the angel shrugged it off as merely a peculiarity of festive influence on the demon. And having quite stuffed himself with cherry-stone oysters in beds of cress, glazed ham, roast duck with onion sauce, chestnut stuffing, Jerusalem artichokes, and all manner of other yuletide delicacies, Aziraphale agreed that a walk would be quite the thing to settle his stomach in preparation for dessert.

So into the hall the revelers went to bundle up in coats, hats, mittens, scarves, and boots. More snow had fallen while they lunched, and the sun had weakened behind the clouds to a dull afternoon glow. The park wasn’t far, and it took the group no longer than a quarter-hour to arrive, despite the leisurely pace that Crowley had set.

Aziraphale had been deep in conversation with Tracy about the particulars of her latest shipment of fine cashmere skeins she’d got in just the previous week. Not being a knitter himself, Aziraphale had little use for yarn in its pre-apparel form. However, he quite enjoyed cashmere overall and didn’t mind listening to her rattle off various weights and fibers and the finery that could be crafted from each.

When they reached the park, the children darted off with Dog to break in the pristine, footprint-less snow. Crowley pulled forward of the group, too, though not precisely joining the children. Aziraphale watched him surreptitiously from the safety of his conversation with Tracy.

The demon’s lithe, dark figure cut across the snow like a knife through a white frosted cake, and suddenly, Aziraphale was unaccountably hungry again, despite his full stomach. The angel could not get his fill of watching Crowley, in motion or at rest, it hardly mattered. The day Aziraphale stopped tracing Crowley’s course across the world was the day the angel’s eyes stopped opening altogether.

“Mr. Aziraphale,” Tracy said, bringing him back to the conversation at hand. “Have you heard a word I’ve said?”

“Of course, madam,” Aziraphale said with a smile.

Tracy returned his smile with a knowing one of her own, and then gestured with her head in Crowley’s direction. “How are things with him?”

“Things are fine, I’m sure.”

“I mean, how are things between the two of you?”

“Same as always. We see each other perhaps a little more often since…well, you know. But otherwise, unchanged.”

“That’s a shame,” she said, wistfully.

“It is?” Aziraphale responded, surprised.

“Well, I don’t mean to interfere, of course, but…”

“But?”

“But…are you happy?”

Aziraphale opened his mouth to say that indeed he was very happy, but no sound came out.

Tracy’s knowing look reappeared as Aziraphale closed his mouth, digesting this new revelation along with his lunch.

“Why don’t you tell him how you feel, dear?” she asked, her eyes at once both kind and reproving.

“I—I don’t think he’s ready to hear it.”

“How so?”

“He doesn’t believe.”

“In Heaven?”

“In me.”

“Oh, I don’t think that’s true,” Tracy argued, taking Aziraphale’s arm as if to comfort him with her touch. Humans really were very compassionate, even to people they barely knew. “It’s clear he thinks you hang the moon.”

“I’m not at all sure of that,” Aziraphale said. “But even if it were so, with all his talk of _our side_ , he doesn’t have faith in me. And I can’t say I blame him. I’ve betrayed him one too many times to deserve his trust. Even if the truth is that now I would never— I would sooner discorporate myself then betray him again.”

“Have you considered that keeping this information to yourself might be a betrayal of a different kind?” Tracy said matter-of-factly.

Aziraphale was struck dumb by this observation. He hadn’t considered that.

“Maybe it’s not about what you deserve,” Tracy continued. “Maybe it’s about what you can build together.”

Aziraphale continued to regard her with startlement.

“Just think about it, dear,” Tracy said, as she patted his arm. Then her expression morphed to one of vacant delight as they’d caught up with the rest of the group, and she abandoned him for Shadwell. “Aren’t the dears just adorable, darling?” she said to Shadwell as she walked away.

Aziraphale lost the rest of the conversation as he disappeared into his own reflections. He was so deep in his own head, in point of fact, that he missed it completely when Crowley decided to officially declare war on the angels still following them.

Aziraphale did _not_ miss the counterattack, though, as a snowball hit him square in the center of his back, knocking the wind out of him.

“What in Heaven’s name was that?” he said, spinning to find the source of the missile.

The two angels who’d been tailing them weren’t hiding behind newspapers any longer. They both had armed themselves with snowballs, the one on the left already sporting a splotch of smashed snow on the front of his double-breasted suit.

“Oi!” Crowley shouted at them, appearing at Aziraphale’s elbow. “I was told angels aren’t allowed combat on Christmas! What’s the big idea?”

“You shot first!” said the angel who wasn’t wearing snow on his suit.

“I’m a demon!” Crowley shouted back, flinging his arms wide in dramatic fashion. “I don’t make the rules.”

Aziraphale couldn’t help but notice the snowball in Crowley’s hand.

“Crowley, stop,” he said. “I told you—”

But rather than listen to reason, Crowley lobbed another snowball at the second angel. This time, the snowball hit an invisible barrier and disintegrated before reaching its target.

“Oh, so that’s how it’s going to be,” Crowley said, removing his sunglasses and tucking them in his shirt pocket.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale protested, but Crowley was completely ignoring him now.

“Leave my angel alone…or else,” Crowley growled, his lighthearted ribbing morphing to a full-blown threat instantaneously.

Then he snapped his fingers.

With an enormous groan, the tree branches above the two angels shifted, dumping a pile of snow easily six feet tall on top of their heads.

“Really, Crowley,” Aziraphale chided. “That was hardly necessary.”

Crowley shrugged, turning to Aziraphale, crooked grin back in place. “Maybe. But it was fun.”

Anathema tromped over to them, hands obscured in a warm, woolen muff. “What the heck was that all about?”

“Nothing, any more,” Crowley said, blowing the tip of his finger as if it were the muzzle of a gun.

Aziraphale shook his head in disapproval. “Those angels have been following me, and Crowley took it upon himself to stir the pot.”

“Pssht,” Crowley said. “Wouldn’t have to stir it, if they’d just leave us the Heaven alone.”

“Well, I’m sure your little tantrum was ever so convincing on the matter.”

“Sarcasm doesn’t suit you, angel.”

“Yes, it does, and you know it.”

“Well,” Crowley huffed, muttering some inarticulate nonsense that did nothing to disguise his slight blush.

“If you two don’t mind,” Anathema broke in, physically inserting herself between them. “I think we should get a move on before they dig themselves out.”

Unfortunately, she’d mentioned it a trifle late, as the angels were already emerging from their snowy burial mounds. The first drew a mobile from his pocket and put it to his ear. The second raised his hands to exact miraculous revenge.

“Shit,” Crowley said, grabbing Aziraphale by the wrist and pulling him backward, further into the park.

“Incoming!” Anathema yelled, as she turned and stumbled back in the direction of Newt and the Them.

“What?” Shadwell said, just as a flurry of snow whirled outward from the second angel and caught him full blast. Unable to move from the icy gust of miracle, he toppled backward like a snow-encased statue.

“Darling!” Tracy shouted, stooping to his side.

With another snap, Crowley erected a wall of snow separating the two of them from the angels.

“That’s not going to be near enough of a deterrent,” Aziraphale said.

“I don’t see you coming up with any better ideas,” Crowley barked back.

Aziraphale glared at Crowley and snapped his own fingers. Instantly, the snow wall swirled into a snow fortress, complete with battlements and a catapult and a supply of watermelon-sized snowballs. Crowley and Aziraphale were already in position on the ramparts, overlooking the whitewashed battlefield below.

“I stand corrected.”

“Honestly, Crowley, we wouldn’t need this at all if you hadn’t started it to begin with.”

“Children!” Anathema shouted at them from down below. At first, Aziraphale had assumed she was talking about the Them, but, no, she’d been looking up at him and Crowley when she’d said it. “Are you going to actually protect us from this problem you created, or what?”

“Oh, right,” Aziraphale said, snapping his fingers again to bring them all inside the walls, miracling Shadwell back to a semblance of his normal self in the process.

“Sorry, dear,” he called down to where she stood in the bailey, hands on her hips and glaring up at them.

“Unbelievable,” she shouted as she marched up the packed-snow stairs to join them on the parapet, Adam and Dog at her heels. “What’s the plan?”

“Plan? There is no plan,” Aziraphale said. “Is there, Crow—?”

“Wahoo!!!” Crowley shouted as the catapult arm exploded upwards, lobbing a giant ball of snow at the angels still standing on the other side of the street from the park.

Anathema took one hand out of her muff to rub the bridge of her nose. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

“Wicked!” Adam said. “Can I have a go?”

“Certainly,” Crowley said.

Anathema sighed heavily and turned to address Aziraphale. “On a scale of one to apocalypse, how worried should I be right now?”

“Probably a four,” Aziraphale said. Then Adam catapulted another ball of snow and actually hit the angel still on the phone with his superior. “Make that a five.”

Anathema groaned almost as dramatically as Crowley while removing a crystal necklace from around her neck and inscribing what Aziraphale assumed were protective runes into the wall with it.

Suddenly, the ground just outside the fortress opened up, and Prince Beelzebub rose from the earth like a giant, pissed-off hornet.

“Crowley! Why am I getting calls from the opposition interrupting my afternoon torture timetable. You are so far out of line that I am going to have to beat you with it. Get down here at—“

Beelzebub was interrupted again from whatever they had meant to say by a tidal wave of snow washing up and over them from behind.

“Whoops, sorry!” said angel henchman number two.

Beelzebub, for their part, turned on their heel, glaring bloody murder at the two angels, who had been joined, in the interim, by Michael and Sandalphon.

“Are you seriously trying to get yourselves discorporated right now?”

“Hey!” Sandalphon shouted back. “It was an accident.”

“You expect me to believe that?” Beelzebub shouted back.

“We’re angels!” Michael said. “We don’t lie!”

“Oh, right. How could I forget. You’re all bloody perfect, aren’t you.”

Then they clapped their hands once together. Dagon, Hastur, and a few other demons Aziraphale didn’t recognize emerged from the ground around them.

“We’re going to need reinforcements,” Michael said, snapping her own mobile into existence.

“We’re going to need more snow,” Anathema said.

“Not at all.” Aziraphael argued. “What we need is someone to show a whit of common sense.”

Adam and Crowley looked at one another and said simultaneously, “Snow.”

The next thing Aziraphale knew, the drifts piled up in the park were easily three times as high as they had been, and the Them had already begun an assembly line for snowball production.

What followed was all out war, each contingent fighting its own battle against the other two. The angels fought in orderly regiments, rank and file, effective and relentless. Snowballs pounded against the fortress walls. Were it not for Anathema’s protections, the pockmarked wall would have fallen within minutes under the onslaught.

Meanwhile, the demon contingent used guerilla tactics, weaving in and out of trees to take the angel armies out by twos and threes. But they didn’t confine their harrying to the angelic force. They also attacked the fortress through cracks and tunneling where the walls were more sparsely defended.

The Them proved a formidable and experienced strike team, leaving the cover of the fortress at strategic intervals to sabotage the enemy supply lines with Dog urine.

Crowley miracled three additional catapults to the ramparts as well as trebuchets, and even a couple of cannons.

Newt and Tracy threw as good as they got, but within an hour, everyone was covered in snow and shivering, even the angels.

Oddly enough, many of the combatants, including several of the demons, had smiles on their faces. Which gave Aziraphale an idea.

He snapped his fingers, and Michael’s mobile device appeared in his hand. He had no idea how to operate the thing, but he took a page out of Crowley’s book and pretended that he did. In a trice, the flat, smooth surface transformed into a dialing mechanism almost exactly like his telephone back at the bookshop.

“Ah, here we go.”

But before he dialed the number, he looked for Crowley across the battlefield, finding him wrapped in the branches of a tree, looking through a brass spy glass and calling orders to his troops on the ground.

Aziraphale’s heart bumped traitorously against his ribs. He may not have earned the demon’s faith, but the demon had already stolen his soul. And there was nothing to be done about it now. Nor would he do anything about it if he could. He’d signed that contract long ago, and he was content with the consequences. Even when Crowley was acting like a complete buffoon.

Having confirmed Crowley’s being otherwise engaged, Aziraphale made quick work of the dialing and put the mobile to his ear.

“Michael. You have a report?” Gabriel said on the other end of the line. Not line. Mobiles didn’t have lines, did they?

“Very sorry, old chap,” Aziraphale said. “Michael is a bit…ah…indisposed at the moment.”

“ _Aziraphale_?!” Gabriel yelled into the mouthpiece, causing Aziraphale to pull the mobile away from his ear. “What have you done with Michael?”

“Oh, she is unharmed,” Aziraphale assured him with a smile before remembering that he was supposed to be playing a part. He quickly dropped the smile in favor of a more appropriate, grave expression. “That is, she is unharmed for the moment. But you really ought to come down here before…before, um…well, you just had better or else.”

“If you so much as pluck a hair from her head, I’ll cast you so deep into purgatory that you’ll never see your precious earth again!”

“Mmhmm,” Aziraphale said, distracted by a snowball whizzing past, very near his face. “What was that, dear?”

“I will not be mocked by a-a-a heretic!” Gabriel’s tone was tilting dangerously toward smiting territory.

“Right, right. So we’ll see you here, then? Say, before tea time?”

“Listen, traitor. You can’t just order me a—”

But Aziraphale ended the call before he heard the rest of Gabriel’s diatribe. He’d laid enough bait. It was time to get everyone in a room, so to speak.

And Gabriel did not disappoint. Within moments, he was descending from the heavens, wings unfurled, a sword in his grip. He clearly had no intention of underestimating Aziraphale this time.

Aziraphale snapped himself out from behind the protection of the fortress walls and onto the battlefield in front of Gabriel before Crowley had a chance to clamber down from his perch.

“What is the meaning of this?” Gabriel demanded as he touched down between the angel contingent and the snow fortress.

The demons poked their heads out from their various hiding places behind trees and drifts and bushes. Crowley had already begun his descent from the tree and was closing in on Aziraphale’s location.

“Sir!” Uriel said, snapping to attention. “Everything is under control, sir.”

“Under control?” Gabriel said. “I wasn’t aware anything needed controlling. What in the name of all that’s holy is going on here? You know the edict!”

Uriel seemed to wilt under the pressure, so Sandalphon stepped into the breach.

“No one was hurt,” Sandalphon said. “Just a bit of fun.”

“Fun? Angels were made for duty. Not _fun_.”

With each word, Gabriel’s angelic aura grew sharper and more painful to look at. Even the angels began to cringe under the weight of it. All the angels but Aziraphale, that is. He was no longer afraid of Gabriel. Or rather, this had been his plan, after all. Time for phase two.

Aziraphale bent to scoop up a handful of snow while Crowley was still just a bit too far out of reach to stop him.

“Angel—!”

But it was too late. Aziraphale had already lobbed the snowball at Gabriel’s face, catching him full in the nose. Aziraphale was surprised by how satisfying that felt. No wonder everyone else had been grinning.

Shocked, Gabriel had frozen in place for several long seconds. The entire contingent of angels, demons, and humans seemed to have frozen as well, holding their collective breath until Gabriel reacted.

“You… You… _maniac_!” Gabriel shouted as he wiped the snow from his eyes.

“Now, sir—the edict!” Michael called out to him. “Remember the e—”

“Fuck the edict!” Gabriel roared, gesturing sharply at Aziraphale.

Before anyone else could move, Crowley threw himself in front of Aziraphale, taking the full impact of all fifty snowballs, hurled at point-blank range.

“Crowley!” Anathema shouted, hands to her red cheeks in horror.

But Crowley was already standing up, brushing off his coat. “Gotta say, mate—you have terrible aim.”

Gabriel roared again. “Charge!”

The angels obeyed instantly, resuming their snowball attack, while the demons dived back into their hiding spots. Aziraphale snapped the human contingent, as well as himself and Crowley, back into the relative safety of their fortress, and then proceeded to join wholeheartedly in the battle, grinning like a loon, as he was pelted with his fair share of white, fluffy wetness.

After several hours of increasingly creative tactics for evasion, assault, defense, and recovery, the action finally began to slow. Squeals of laughter filled the air, along with the occasional goodnatured curse and a fair amount of what the humans referred to as “trash talk.” But the sun had long since faded, twilight had bloomed around them while they were all otherwise engaged, and the time to exchange their swords for plowshares had come.

“Well,” said Aziraphale to Crowley, who had joined him to dismantle the snow fortress. “I suppose I should thank you, dear.”

“Thank me? What for?” Crowley said, forehead crinkling as he regarded Aziraphale in confusion.

“For being you,” Aziraphale said, beaming fondly at his demon.

“Oh. Well, s’all right then,” Crowley said, a bit out of sorts. “You’re welcome?”

Aziraphale chuckled and wandered away from him, closer to where the demons had started a small pit of hellfire to warm everyone up. Angels were miracling and passing out hot chocolate. And the humans were laughing and recounting tales of snowball fights past to demons and angels alike, who still seemed a bit bemused at the afternoon’s events and their participation in them.

Gabriel, as Aziraphale suspected he would, appeared silently beside him as he watched the demons and angels and humans fraternizing.

“This doesn’t mean that you’re forgiven,” Gabriel said.

“I haven’t asked for forgiveness, Gabriel, and I hardly expected it.”

“Will you stop talking for five blessed seconds so I can keep myself from hating you while I say this?”

Aziraphale opened his mouth to agree but thought better of it and gestured for Gabriel to continue instead.

“This doesn’t mean that you’re forgiven, but…” Gabriel paused to heave a long-suffering sigh. “You’ve made your point. Maybe change is possible…at least for one day a year.”

Aziraphale nodded, gifting Gabriel with an olive-branch of a smile.

“All right, angel?” Crowley said as he sauntered up to join them. He looked concerned but tentative, as if waiting for Aziraphale to indicate whether he should spring into defensive action.

“Never better, dear boy,” Aziraphale said. “Actually, I could do with a cup of—”

Crowley handed Aziraphale a steaming cup before the angel could even finish asking.

“I figured,” he said with a knowing smile.

“Ah, thank you.” Aziraphale took the cup, wrapping his hands around it to warm them.

Then without consciously making the decision, Aziraphale passed the cup on to Gabriel.

“Merry Christmas, Gabriel.”

Gabriel rolled his eyes but took the proffered cocoa.

“I still can’t believe that you two idiots somehow convinced a regiment of angels, myself included, to commemorate the birth of God’s Son by consorting with demons.”

Aziraphale snorted in amusement. Consorting with demons. For Heaven’s sake. If Gabriel only _knew_.

In fact… Maybe it was time to tell him.

Maybe coming clean to Heaven was the catalyst that Crowley needed to actually be able to believe in Aziraphale, to trust that Aziraphale was fully with him on their “own side.” Maybe it was time for Aziraphale to admit it, out loud and in public, in a way that he could never take back. To show that he would never _want_ to take it back.

“Consorting with demons, Gabriel?” Aziraphale said finally, a devilish idea taking hold, part of him amazed at his own daring, though come to think of it, it took almost no courage at all.

Aziraphale gestured to the angels and demons and humans mingling around the pit of fire. “This isn’t consorting with demons.”

Then he reached out and grabbed Crowley’s elbow, spinning the demon into his arms and dipping him low to the ground. He looked up at Gabriel with a wicked smile.

“This is consorting with demons.”

Then Principality Aziraphale, Guardian of the Eastern Gate, Angel of the Flaming Sword, kissed the demon Crowley with a passion far surpassing any force of nature known to humankind.

Aziraphale’s own mind was awash in light and fire from the feel of his love in his arms, his lips on his lips, his soul blending with his soul. So much so that he barely noticed the physical ramifications of his actions until far later than he probably should have.

For one thing, the snow drift beneath them had melted from the force of the kiss, both demonic and angelic auras causing a crater to form under their feet. For another, gasps and cheers in equal measure had erupted around them. A few groans and retching noises, as well, but Aziraphale pointedly ignored them.

When he pulled away, Crowley’s glasses were askew and his expression was shocked in a way that looked both horrified and delighted at the same time.

“All right, my dear?” Aziraphale said, quietly, for only Crowley to hear.

Crowley made a few inarticulate noises that generally indicated an affirmative, and Aziraphale lifted him back up to his feet.

“You do you, Aziraphale,” Gabriel said in a resigned voice.

“I always do,” Aziraphale said with a smile.

“All right, angels,” Gabriel said to the assembled group. “I think we’ve had enough _fun_ for the year. Duty calls.”

And almost simultaneously, the angels all blinked out of existence.

“Demons…” Beelzebub echoed, snapping his fingers.

Grumblings and mutterings accompanied the sounds of demons being swallowed up by the snowy earth around them.

Within a minute or two, the humans—and one angel and one demon—were left alone again.

“Sorry, dear,” Aziraphale said to Crowley. “I really should have asked permission before—”

“Shut it, angel,” Crowley said, capturing Aziraphale’s face in his chilly hands and kissing him back.

“All right, you two,” Anathema broke in after a full minute of snogging. “I’m cold, and I’m wet, and it’s dark, and I’m going home.”

Crowley pulled back first, taking Aziraphale’s hand in his and kissing his fingers. “You are… You are…”

“I’m what, darling?”

“You are a pain in my arse, and I love you.”

“I love you, too, dear,” Aziraphale said, leaning in to nuzzle Crowley’s snow-chapped cheek. “Obviously.”

“Obviously,” Crowley repeated, fondly.

“We’re going!” Anathema called again, already on the march back through the drifts to her cottage.

Later that night, when it had been determined that the Bentley had been literally buried in the extra snow that Crowley and Adam had dumped on the village, and Anathema had graciously offered to let them stay the night, Aziraphale and Crowley had retired to the guest room upstairs to discover that there was only one bed in the room.

Aziraphale looked at Crowley, and Crowley looked at Aziraphale, each of them waiting for the other to miracle an additional bed. But neither of them did.


End file.
